To Be Okay Again
by Mashpotatoe Queen
Summary: Based on Teen Titans: The Judas Contract movie. In which the adverse effects of being kidnapped and held hostage in what was very likely horrible conditions is actually mentioned and explored. (OR where Damian is actually, you know, a kid for once, after a pretty traumatic experience and Dick does his best to take care of him.)


**Alright, I know that this is kind of out of the blue, but I had been watching those animated DC superhero movies and I had watched the Teen Titans Judas Contract, and of course I absolutely adore Nightwing/Dick Grayson but I also really loved seeing Damian- he's such a snarky little assassin baby- and then I realized that there is literally NOWHERE where the fact that, you know, Robin has been kidnapped and locked away for who knows how long and was probably in really bad conditions on top of all that. Like, seriously, Nightwing is like "KOOOORRII!" and doesn't seem to realize that Damian has been unconscious and off to the side for QUITE a while.**

 **(WHAT IS IT WITH THESE MOVIES AND MESSING WITH NIGHTWING ANYWAYS!?)**

 **Anyways, so THIS fic spawned from THAT idea.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

 **...**

It began on what he assumes was the third day in his stay, attached to the wall with hard rock encasing his limbs and chest. He had already escaped from his confines seven times- at the expense of many scratches and tears at his arms- and each time the level of rock just rose higher, covered more flesh and made breathing and blood flow just that much more difficult.

Ha hadn't eaten once since arriving, and the small amount of liquid tolerated wasn't enough. And he never wanted to speak about the bathroom trips ever again.

And he felt tired. _Tired and hungry and sore and-_

And then, suddenly, he was released, his cuffs of stone retreating back into their natural state.

Immediately, he fell to the ground, limbs uncoordinated and lacking of all circulation. Slowly, with the help of the wall and several deep breaths, he was standing up, and then looking up, and then glaring up, for Slade was standing before him, perfect and unruffled and _Gods did the guy make him angry_.

"Slade."

His voice comes out more of a hiss than anything else.

But Slade just smirks, and then punches him solidly in the jaw.

Now, if Damian had had proper nutrition and regular intervals of movement the last few days, he probably would have managed to fend off the hit and retaliate, perhaps driving Slade back enough that he would manage to get out of the cage of a room and out to the world beyond.

As it was, he had been hanging off a wall in a dimly lit room for the last few days, without food, water, or even proper rest.

And so he went sailing, slamming into a wall with a soft grunt and slipping to the ground below right afterwards. He made himself stand, but then Slade was there again, and he was really beginning to not feel very well, but all he could do was swipe sweat off his brow and grit his teeth and get on with it.

He managed to push away the pain, to focus only on the adrenaline running through his veins, to focus and to breathe and to fight.

And that was what they did. They simply fought, and Damian knew something was going on, he knew it, and wasn't sure how he fit into the situation but he sure as hell wasn't going to simply lie there, surrendering, while he could still get up and throw a punch.

And when Slade finally got a good kick in, a solid one to the head, and Damian was left on the ground, breathing hard and dizzy and with black encroaching his vision, he thought he saw the wavering image of Slade bending down and scooping him up, swinging him around and holding him like a sack of potatoes, and he thought he heard the older man command Terra- the poor, misguided fool- to get ready to put their plan into action, and he was pretty sure that he had had a thought that the whole thing was going to go South very, very quickly…

But he couldn't know for sure, because he was falling, falling, and then all he knew was darkness.

He woke up once or twice, the first time in a cramped unfamiliar room with earthen walls and a musty smell that was roughly the size of a walk in closet. He looked up, vision blurry and thoughts distant, as a serine woman in a red dress and shawl smiled creepily down at him, a vial with yellow liquid and a sharp needle poised right above the crease of his elbow.

He tried to move, to get away, but he was too late, _too late_ , and then his world was swallowed by black once more.

The second time he woke up was when someone was placing him into some sort of contraption, large metal cases snapping around his arms and _pinching_. He hardly managed to open his eyes before something was hitting him- the butt of a gun, his mind informed him- and he was out again.

The third time he woke up, he was no longer alone, something he wasn't too sure he was happy about, because this was _his_ team, and now they were _all_ captured and helpless.

They were talking to someone- a bald man with an overzealous costume, with Slade standing by his side, and Damian was angry and there was adrenaline in his blood even though he was feeling so tired and ill and everything _hurt_.

"No god is going to save you, Deathstroke."

He might have said more, if not for the electricity suddenly filling his veins and making every cut and bruise and sprained bone _burn with the fire of a hundred suns_. And he wasn't sure what was going on, but it sure as hell _hurt._

And then suddenly the clasps were releasing them and he was falling to the ground, boneless. He tried to catch himself, and he mainly succeeded, but then his limbs went jittery and he was trying to catch his breath, his hands on his knees just to the side of the machine. He saw, distantly, Dick giving a Kory a hug, and even more distantly he wandered where _his_ hug was, because, you know, he had been the one missing the last few days, but then he realized that Dick hadn't realized, had received the false texts that were actually very realistic, and that he couldn't hold it against him. And then he was standing up, because there was fighting, and his team needed him even though all he really wanted was to sleep for a week

(His stomach had long since given up from cramping in hunger.)

The adrenaline in his veins made fighting a whole lot easier, made the pain go away for a while, but he knew he was being sloppy, that Nightwing was making up for him and then some- _What was up with the man's arm? It looked like it had been dislocated and then popped back in or something…_ \- because a fight with the two of them against Deathstroke should _not_ have lasted this long, not with both of them fighting as one.

The next thing he knew, rubble was falling from the ceiling, pounding onto the floor below and covering everything in a constant stream of threat of death by squishing. They were running out of the massive cave- _Cave, when had he gotten into a cave? Last he knew he was cemented to a wall… And since when did Terra suddenly hate Slade? What was going on?_ \- and into the daylight beyond, evacuating, and Beast Boy was screaming for Terra, even as said girl was screaming just in general, fiery yellow glow covering the whole darkened area with light. But no, Beast Boy couldn't go to her, because Blue Beetle and Nightwing were grabbing him, pulling him back, and they were running, running, running even as his head kept pounding, pounding, pounding….

His legs felt wobbly, and his chest ached- his _everything_ ached- and his throat was uncomfortably dry, his vision blurring at random moments only to refocus into highly distinguished images seconds later, his hearing only catching every few words, as if the noise was muted underwater.

And then they were outside under the softly setting sun, but it was still _too bright_ , too bright after days of artificial lights, and his knees were starting to jostle now that the adrenaline was fading from his systems, and _Christ,_ when had it gotten so hard to breathe?

"Are we done yet? Is it over?"

He was asking the words, he could feel his lips moving, but everything seemed so far away.

And everyone was a little subdued but Jaime was saying, _yes, yes they were done_ , and Damian had never felt so relieved.

"Oh. Excellent…."

There must have been something in his voice, or maybe a slight waver in his posture, because everyone was looking at him now, even Beast Boy, whose eyes were wet and red rimmed.

And it didn't matter, because Damian only had eyes Dick, who was already steadfastly heading in his direction, abandoning Kory, hands reaching out for him.

And his legs were so tired and achy, and _he_ was so tired and achy, even beyond that, he was in constant, throbbing _pain,_ and his throat was still dry and his head was still pounding and his ears were still ringing and yes, he could finally let his guard down a bit, he could finally rest.

"...I think I'm going to pass out now."

And then his eyes were rolling up to the top of his head and black was rapidly encroaching his vision, and his body was crumpling to the ground, and then Dick was there, catching him and cradling him against his chest like a child, a steady stream of curses leaving his lips as he came to the realization of just what had been going on the last few days, and Damian would protest and shove the elder man off if the other hadn't been so ridiculously comfortable and his own bones so ridiculously tired…

" _Dami? Dami, I need ya to stay awake, bud…_ "

His eyes flittered open, landing on Nightwing's wide, wide worried eyes, but then they were closing again. He was so, so tired…

" _C'mon, kid… stay with me here…_ "

And there were motions, motions of people running, or people driving, perhaps he was even in the air once, he couldn't really tell, but the next thing he really knew was that he was in a hospital bed in a pair of sweatpants and an Oxygen mask around his face, and he wasn't sure why but it was getting really hard to breathe and-

And his eyes are wide, wide, wide, and he was pretty sure he was in the middle of an operation and that meant he should stay very still but the drugs in his systems were addling his brain, and he didn't like this, didn't like how his hands were cuffed- how he was trapped, and he wanted out, and he wanted it now.

He struggled, yelling… something, he wasn't sure, and then Dick was there, releasing the cuffs and placing his hands on either side of his head, holding him steady and looking him directly in the eye, letting loose a constant, soothing stream of words that Damian couldn't quite catch but calmed him anyways.

" _...-alm down, Dami, I need you to calm down. It's me, Dick, you're back at the tower. You've got a couple broken ribs, kid, one of 'em has punctured a lung. We'd give you more drugs, but the amount in your systems isn't really safe in the first place, so I need you to calm down and stay very, very still for me, yah? Can you do that for me, Dami? Just until we get Raven, ok? Just until we get Raven, you've got this, Dami, you got this…_ "

And Damian's own hands were snapping up, grabbing Dick's forearms and he was breathing _hard, hard, hard,_ his mask fogging up with every breath, his every muscle tensed and straining against the pain, against the urge to yell and shout and struggle and hide.

Dick's eyes were very blue, he noticed. And worried. He wandered why.

And then Raven was there, and Dick was moving away, and something inside of him was screaming in protest against the action, so he reaches out and grabs for the older man's hand, squeezing it hard as soon as he finally manages to nab it. Dick looked startled, but stopped his retreat, taking a step closer and rubbing a hand through Damian's hair, even though it was probably gross and sweaty-

And then hands were touching his temple- cold hands, Raven's hands; her fingers were cold, they were always cold- and suddenly he was so, so tired, his body relaxing against his will, the muscle tension fading as the pain travelled off into some different realm, and his eyes were slipping shut, but Dick was still there, still holding his hand, giving it a tight squeeze as the world was lost to the darkness once more.

And the next few days the world was kind of blurry from the steady stream of bad drugs getting slowly flushed out of him and good drugs getting slowly pumped into him, but at some point or another it was in the middle of the night and his chest was bothering him and his arms were stinging from where Starfire had removed the dozens of little pieces of rubble that had been impaled into them- _Who knew that being contained by solid rock could leave so many tiny wounds?_ \- and Dick was there, helping him sit up from his cot and half carrying him to the lounge, where they sat and and watched stupid cartoons together till the sun started to rise somewhere in the distance, bathing the room with golden light.

And he would have protested if Dick's shoulder hadn't been so comfortable, or if he hadn't been so tired, or if the drugs in his systems didn't make him so loopy, but as it was, he let himself rest heavy on the man's arm, curling up to the other's body heat even as his gaze blurred the colorful shapes on the screen.

And then he was falling asleep, hardly hearing as Dick murmured something about how the computer should tint the glass, and hardly realizing when the machine did just that, leaving the pair in darkness.

He woke up a few hours later, and Dick was still besides him, mouth wide open in quiet little huffs and he slept. Someone had thrown a blanket over them both, and Damian would have been embarrassed, but no one was there and the room was still dark, and even though he thought he could hear voices somewhere in the distance, he was pretty sure they would be unbothered for another few hours.

So he closed his eyes and falls back asleep, and at last the world was okay again.

He could always blame the drugs for his behavior later anyways.

It was going to be okay.

 **...**

 **There you have it, folks! :)**

 **Thank you in advance for all and any reviews, favorites, or follows!**

 **Mashpotatoe Queen**


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